


Begin and End Together

by medusasrevenge (pansexualbeast15)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sleepy babies, Tumblr Prompt, snek boi in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansexualbeast15/pseuds/medusasrevenge
Summary: In which Crowley misses Aziraphale, a snake scares some customers, and two man shaped creatures finally declare their feelings for each other.





	Begin and End Together

We Begin and End Together

After the Apocaneverhappened, the oldest of friends found themselves at the Ritz as was their unabashedly hedonistic wont, sat on the same side (oh the symbolism!), toasted “To the World” with the finest of champagne and then went home. Separately. I know. Sorry to disappoint you. Aziraphale muttered something about “inventory that mustn’t wait” and Crowley mumbled something about having a hot date with a cold bed and then blushing redder than his hair. The angel’s response was to titter and then utter an equally ridiculous “Good Lord.” Good lord, indeed. Wherever She was, She was certainly rolling her many celestial eyes. 

Later that night, an angel picked up books and put them back on the same shelf without even looking at the titles or admiring the beautiful binding and gilt lettering. The books were miffed and ruffled their pages at him but Aziraphale was distracted. You see, the whole thing had been rather anticlimactic as it were. And not just the part about the world not ending. He had thought—he was certain—something was going to happen. With Crowley.

But the dear boy seemed to be ignoring all Aziraphale’s quite overt hints! His lingering gaze should have been the tip off. Wiggling closer at the table so their sleeves touched. Sitting in the car outside his bookshop, sighing pointedly, waiting for something, for anything to happen. The Bentley was silent for once. It was up to them now. Our two conquering heroes had Too Much to Say and So They Said Nothing. Except “See you tomorrow, Angel.” Then Crowley peeled off, treating the streets of London like a video game. Tomorrow. There would be a tomorrow. That was something.

Crowley had some thinking to do and a fair amount of self-chastising, but first he really needed a long nap. And he slept better in snake form. He was profoundly tired. It was all over and yet it was just beginning. The Alpha and the Omega and all that. Crowley took a breath and transformed into his reptilian self. It always seemed to feel better morphing from his human body to snake form than the other way around. The fancy black suit vanished, as did the sunglasses, and in an instant a handsome black snake wriggled happily across the smooth cool floor. Ahh, that’sss better.

But it wasn’t better. Crowley curled up in his Eden green linen sheets, closed his golden eyes but sleep eluded the poor demon. His creature comforts surrounded him: whiskey, whiskey filled chocolates, chocolate flavored whiskey, his secret plush angel, heat lamp on high, David Bowie’s greatest hits playing on his mint 1970’s turntable, but something important was missing. After an hour of shifting and slithering irritably in his soft, many pillowed nest he realized what was missing

Assiraphale.

He needed his angel. Can you blame him? He thought he was going to lose him three times and Three is a Very Significant Number: when the bookshop burned and Crowley couldn’t find him, when Satan showed up and almost permanently crashed Earth’s Party, and when they weren’t sure if swapping bodies would save them. He’s still a bit worried that he might still lose Aziraphale. Upstairs and Downstairs might be looking for retribution because an angel and a demon and a small boy spoiled their lovely war. Aziraphale. He needed to see his angel. Right now. He would know what to do and what to say. His Azira was the only creature he had ever met who ever offered him true understanding and real comfort.

An exhausted Crowley arrived at Aziraphale’s front door. He swayed in indecision. Should he knock or ring the ornate lion shaped bell? He didn’t want to be a bother. He was so tired. And it had taken an effort to change back to his human shape. He just wanted a nap. Crowley pointed his finger at the keyhole and mimed turning a key. The door opened slowly. Crowley and Aziraphale, sometime around 1942 had agreed that in case of an emergency, they could miracle each other’s doors open even if the other wasn’t there. Because really, who has time for keys these days?  
Crowley felt dizzy. Where was Aziraphale? Oh well, he’d just sit down on his nice squashy brocade sofa and wait for him. There was a lovely fire crackling in the fireplace. Crowley stretched his weary, old bones and then changed into a snake without a second thought. Ahh, that’ss it. Sssweeet relief.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale had removed his little gold glasses, put them in their case, and laid his curly sugar sand blond head down on a nice thick volume on Audubon. He was just going to rest his eyes for a moment. Surely, he had earned it after all they had done. Saving the world was hard work. He yawned loudly. As an ethereal entity, he simply didn’t get tired but found he didn’t have the energy to remain upright. A few minutes later, Aziraphale was sound asleep. He slept through Crowley’s quiet break in, slept all the way until morning. The Angel had Gone Native!

The next morning dawned just like any other. Million of ungrateful Londoners had no idea how close they had come to extinction. Aziraphale woke rather well rested and quite refreshed, miracle the wrinkles off his suit and readied himself to get some freshly baked croissants from his favorite French patisserie. Chef Henri always set aside the choicest breads and pastries for his best customer. So intent on his breakfast treat, Aziraphale didn’t see the snake curled around the ancient cash register.

Crowley was blissed out. Every spot he found to snooze in was comfy and smelled like his angel: a heady mix of Madagascan Bourbon Vanilla and a few centuries worth of rare book dust. It shouldn’t be the wonderful perfume it was, but it was to the sensitive and let’s face it, besotted snake. He grinned his snake grin (like a human smile, just more fangy and with a slightly indecent hint of forked tongue) and slithered off to nap on top of the Oscar Wilde first editions. Just friendsss, he hissed to himself, not bloody likely, Assiraphale, but supreme exhaustion overcame his righteous indignation and jealousy and he found his eyes closing against his will. He was just going to rest for a little while before he found Aziraphale and gave him…. gave him something.

Aziraphale was pouring himself a perfect cup of Lady Grey tea to go with his generously buttered and raspberry jam laden croissant when he heard something he had never heard in his or any other bookshop: screaming. Excited screaming he had been forced to endure during the Blessed Harry Potter Years, but this was different. These were fearful screams. Human screams. Aziraphale raced to the front of his shop, worried that someone from Upstairs or Downstairs might be torturing one of his customers. For news of Aziraphale and Crowley, he was certain. They’ve come for us. We will never be free to live together! What? That’s not what I meant. I meant free to live in peace but not celestial harmony until the end of our days.

There were three humans in the front of the bookshop, and they were indeed screaming. But there weren’t any annoying supernatural emissaries to be seen. An old man in a tattered raincoat was yelling “Snake! Snake! Snake!” and brandishing his umbrella before him. A uni student with half a shaved head and tattooed forearms didn’t look frightened at all, just bemused and continued to browse the occult section. A teenager with headphones slung around their neck, in a striped red and white jumper that was very Where’s Waldo? stabbed their finger at Aziraphale’s bookcase of treasured gay literature and there He was. Crowley. Lounging atop Oscar’s Collected Works. Cheeky bugger. He would know that snake anywhere. What in heaven’s name was he doing here? And why was he in snake form?

“No need for alarm,” Aziraphale reassured the small group. “That creature is indeed a snake and he is my pet. My store mascot, if you will.” 

Crowley opened his eyes and glared at Aziraphale as if to say Really? Really, Aziraphale?

“He won’t hurt you. He’s tame.” Crowley hissed and stuck out his forked tongue.

The old man and teenage Waldo jumped. The uni student said “Wicked.” Crowley bobbed his head as if to say Got it in one.

What do you want me to do? Aziraphale asked his serpent friend desperately with his wide Delft blue eyes.

You figure it out, Angel, Crowley’s amber eyes said and slithered over to Aziraphale, crawled up the shocked angel’s pleasingly plump side and wrapped around his arm. He was always much bolder in snake form. Ssso warm. Somehow I always knew you would be. Warm like ssstarss are warm. Crowley was afraid the angel could hear his thoughts. They were the ones screaming now. In ecstasy. Oh go-Sa- somebody. Help me here.

“I’m going to call Animal Control. You shouldn’t have a snake in here. Its revolting is what it is. That thing belongs in the zoo,” the old man bellowed at Aziraphale.

Crowley tightened his hold on the angel’s arm in fear and Aziraphale stroked his head scales gently. He had never touched Crowley in his snake form before. He felt cool and smooth beneath his trembling fingers.

“I assure you this is all perfectly legal, sir,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. “I will completely understand if you no longer want to frequent my bookshop. In fact, it is best for all concerned if you leave immediately. Since my snake is so distasteful to you. Try the Waterstones down the street.” The old man’s jaw dropped, and he sagged, as if all the fight has left him. Aziraphale took hold of his arm politely but firmly and steered him out the front door, closing and locking it for good measure. 

Waldo inched closer to Aziraphale. “If he’s your pet, what’s his name?”

“His name…hmm” Aziraphale leaned close to Crowley’s head and whispered “Puer Carissime,”in Latin, their old language though Love is the oldest language of all. As our two man shaped creatures were finally learning. It had only taken 6,000 years. 

Crowley shivered in delight, then slithered up and around his neck, nuzzling Aziraphale’s left shoulder. Aziraphale felt a small bonfire happening in his body and cleared his throat several times before returning his attention to the inquisitive customer. “You may call him Genesis.” You see, Aziraphale had always been just enough a bastard and Crowley loved him for it.

“Genesis? Like the Phil Collins band? Me mum loves his music. I prefer The Arctic Monkeys myself,” said Waldo.

“Yes, my dear. The Phil Collin’s band.” Crowley snorted which sounded like an adorable little sneeze. Aziraphale hadn’t the faintest idea who Phil Collins or   
The Arctic Monkeys were. Bebop, most likely. Crowley would know.

“Wicked,” helpfully added the uni student and started humming the hit song “D is for Dangerous” under their breath. Aziraphale privately had the rather uncharitable thought that the young person must be smoking the devil’s lettuce. Crowley thought the same thing only he followed it up with the entertaining idea of what Aziraphale would be like if he smoked grass. He would just have to tempt him into it! Yes, groovy idea! Capitol, as his angel would say. 

Crowley nipped the angel’s ear gently and Aziraphale turned red as rhubarb pie. “My dearest boy!” he exclaimed. Crowley flicked out his tongue, licked his round cheek and proceeded to move downward and coil himself around Aziraphale like a belt. This is getting a bit inappropriate, he thought. The humans must exeunt. Before we lose all sense of propriety. He quaked in pleasure at that delicious idea.

“Alright then, Cro-Genesis is tired, and I have calls to make to book buyers so I will have to ask you both to leave.”

“Wicked,” said the uni student a bit gloomily and dropped the biography of Aleister Crowley they were holding. 

“I wanted to pet him,” sulked Waldo, but they put their head phones back on and headed for the door.

“Maybe next time, dear. If Genesis gives his consent, that is.” Crowley shakes in silent laughter.

“How long is he staying?” Waldo asked, strangely voicing the exact question that the angel had been wondering about since he saw his favorite wily serpent in his bookcase that morning, looking as if he belonged nowhere else.

“That rather depends on him.” Crowley remained still. “I should like him to stay forever,” the angel said it all in one brave whoosh. Crowley loosened his hold on Aziraphale’s waist, slinked up to his chest, nudged aside his immaculate white shirt and pressed his snoot to his rapidly beating heart.

“It looks like he really likes you,” remarked Waldo with a smile. “Aw, I want a pet now.”

“Wicked,” the occult enthusiast agrees. 

“Farewell, young folk. Come back another time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fell. I’m Theodore H. Richards. I’ll be back. I am writing my doctoral thesis on the occult history of England throughout the ages and I have some questions to ask you, if you don’t mind,” the uni student said shyly.

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. “Of course. What an interesting topic, Theodore. I am here to help,” he said brightly. Crowley thought, hmm, now here’ss an interessting human…Aziraphale won’t mind if we help them get top marks.

“Bye, Mr. Fell. My name’s Taryn. Rhymes with Karen. I can’t wait to tell me mum about Genesis. She’s in love with Phil Collins. It’s gross. He’s so old.”  
Azirophale laughed at this and saw both his customers out the door.

It was quiet. So quiet. It was just the two of them. After all this time. And when was someone going to say something? Do something? Aziraphale started to sweat and felt his heart about to punch through his delicate chest and run off if Crowley didn’t make a move. Then, “Close your eyess, Angel,” Crowley hissed.

Azirophale obeyed at once. He didn’t think it would be hard to take orders from Crowley.

Crowley quickly transformed back into his human shape.

“Open your eyes, Angel,” he said quietly.  
Aziraphale opened his eyes and gazed at Crowley with more love than any angel had ever been able to feel. His beautiful Crowley. In a simple black suit that shimmered, reminding him of his snake form. No sunglasses. His gorgeous, expressive eyes of the oldest, richest yellow clay glistened with tears. 

“Darling,” Aziraphale threw his arms around his beloved demon, embracing him with everything that he had. 

“Did you mean it, Zira? Can I stay forever?” Crowley’s voice shook as he pulled him closer.

“Forever, my love.” Aziraphale cradled Crowley’s face in both hands, learning his friend in a completely new and wonderful way. 

“L-love? You love me?” Crowley stuttered.

“I love you. I love you so much, my dearest boy. Puer carissime.” Azirophale stroked Crowley’s soft pomegranate hair.

“Angel, “Crowley kissed the crown of his dear head. “I love you, Angel. Have done since Eden.”

Aziraphale melted. “Since Eden.”

“We’ll make our own garden, Zira.” Crowley ran his arms up and down Aziraphale’s arms, setting off little sparks. 

“And you will yell at the plants.”

“And I will yell at the plants,” Crowley laughed. “Zira?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been waiting to try something for 6,000 years,” he growled.

“That long, my dear? I wonder what it is?”

“Bastard,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s rosebud mouth and bit his lip. 

“Try it, Crowley. I promise I will like whatever it is,” he said coyly.

“As much as profiteroles?” Crowley said salaciously and licked his lips.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I rather like profiteroles. Let’s try it and find out.” Crowley surged against Aziraphale, his cock hot and hard against the angel’s soft stomach. Aziraphale gasped.

“You are quite naughty, you know, my love.”

“Demon,” he pointed to himself.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way. Though I don’t mind you in snake form. It felt quite nice having you- “

“Angel. Less. Talking.” They closed their eyes in unison. Crowley took a deep breath and pressed his lips once against Aziraphale’s. His lips so soft and tasting of sugar and salt. They rested their warm, damp foreheads against each other, their rabbit fast breathing the only sound in the shop.

“More, please,” Aziraphale drew close and said against Crowley’s lips so it tickled a little. 

“Greedy,” Crowley giggled.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”

“That’s true. Since you asked so nicely.” Crowley slung his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and kissed him properly this time. Aziraphale’s mouth opened like a flower to admit Crowley’s tongue, stroking his until every cell in his body filled with sunlight.

“Crowley, my dearest boy,” Aziraphale murmured between deep kisses that nourished the parched earth inside him. “I am yours. Everything I was. Everything I am. Everything I will be.”

“Zira,” Crowley groaned into his nectar sweet mouth. “As I am yours. Everything I was. Everything I am. Everything I will be,” he repeated like a mantra. His breathing hummingbird quick. “Zira, angel. I want- I want to touch you. Every part of you. I want to be entwined with you. So I don’t know where you end, and I begin. As if we were the only two in the world.”

“We are, Crowley. This is Our World now. We create it. And we begin and end together.”

“Yes, my love,” Aziraphale kissed him like he was saying an oath, and perhaps he was. He took Crowley’s lovely, slender hands and pulled him in the direction of the bedroom where he resisted the urge to miracle something better than his 19th century iron sleigh bed with threadbare lace edged sheets. Crowley didn’t want perfection. He just wanted him.

“Let’s go to our garden, darling. Together, I do think we could help it grow.” Crowley bowed his head like it was a willow tree heavy with sudden, life giving rain, kissed Aziraphale’s hand and followed him through the unassuming wooden door with the old-fashioned glass knob and into eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you like, please leave kudos and comments. They're better than the best profiteroles.


End file.
